The Story of Klelthin Delargivic
by Tainteddark
Summary: This is for uploading portions of my novel for friends mainly to read, and others can read at their leisure if they wish. If you stumble across it, and want to entertain yourself, read and review or enjoy the story!


Hello, to whichever lovely readers read this. This is just a small portion of a story I'm working on, don't mind it too much.

If you want to read it and enjoy it, please do. If you want to review, that'd be cool. =)

Thanks, and have a good day!

Klelthin Delargivic ~

The air smells of brimstone and sulfur, my eyes acknowledging the smoky haze of Death's scent in the distance. A town burns, set ablaze wholly. My nose wrinkles, as the sun bakes the land overhead, as I note the underlining stench of magical involvement. One would have assumed bandits at first glance and inspection – but ones such as I know far better. This stench… it isn't of a rogue being or of Daemonic taint. In fact, it is quite the opposite…

"Master, do you sense them too? The… angels?" a voice sounds behind me, and I turn slowly to face its source. Before me, a black hulking mass looms; sleek shining fur coating a large body as a great pitch-colored mane below a distinct, noble Wolven face watches me with piercing scarlet eyes.

I nod, facing back to the smoldering ruins of the border-city of Neirthal. "Aye, Fenrir; I could smell them from miles prior. Angelic beings plague this town; however, the question is… why?"

The massive hound growls softly in contemplation, surveying the baking debris with interest. "It's… everywhere." I remain silent and set forth forward once again in response, and the large beast follows me at a brisk trot. Wordless conversation settles between us as our brains both soak in the scenario before us – questions as to why angels raid an Imperial town, why this town in particular, if there are any survivors and the like hang over us like specters as we progress down the beaten dirt path. "Master, do you believe there are any humans still alive?"

I glance at the worried look of my compatriot and sigh quietly, my answer bearing crushing truth. "I do not know, but I doubt such."

Fenrir falls into thought as I let my fingers stretch and relax, balling them into fists at either side of my torso as I walk. While a raid on Imperial territory – especially at the border to the enemy country of Morfenon, might I add – isn't unexpected, I have never heard of angels assaulting their empire. In general terms, the Imperial Empire of Aesteria is comprised of worshippers and priests who hail the angelic kingdoms above like gods and messiahs – this meaning, of course, that the true gods within the holy domain are not ones to allow their pets to be destroyed. Renegades are rare, even in such a distinctively useless assortment of pompous fools such as the white-winged angels.

Sighing and tracing my eyes to the skies above as I stare in wonder, I allow the gently blistering-warm wind to blow into me. Sometimes, I question why I am so hardened to occurrences such as this – has my humanity truly been stripped from me?

Perhaps, only time will tell…

Arriving at the gates – or rather, what's left of them – Fenrir trots off, leaving me to survey the scene by myself. Kneeling down to search the piles of charcoaled dust and unidentifiable scrap, I sift through and examine each piece with care; my eyes hone into a small chip of what likely was glass, as I note the aura of powerful holy energy radiating from it. My body twitches upon feeling the aura seep into my spirit, and I hop to my feet and stagger back. Holy energy is a dangerous poison for those of dark ties. Flicking my fingers and closing my eyes, I channel energy into my fingertips and allow the shard to burst into black flame, and my heart settles again as the white taint no longer plagues me.

Damned angels; they can be quite the irritation.

Having confirmed my suspicions, I tiptoe through the wreckage and step over the ragged and ravaged corpses beneath my feet. If not for an accustomed familiarity to the scene, the bloody mess and the obvious signs of carving torture would likely make my stomach lurch. Inwardly, I scoff at these lost souls; where are your gods now, pitiful fools?

Traversing the streets with care, I listen with focus on the sounds echoing through the nearby area with increased hearing – a gift from my Daemonic form. In the distance, I pick up the noise of laughter and faint gasps for air as the sounds of tearing and crying follow them; poor humans – a shame that they must die in such brutal ways; perhaps I won't end up saving any of them.

Suddenly, the howl of a wolf filled with bloodlust sounds, and I glance to either side of me in expectation – and then the barreling feet of a canine seeking revenge are present. Damned Fenrir; the beast has always far softer than I.

Quickening the brisk walk I had been taking until now to a sprint, I chase after the low growl emanating from my companion, and race down the streets to the source of the newly-halted laughter. I can feel the confusion seep from the angels as their gaze bounces around, seeking the source of the noise. One points and screams as Fenrir comes into view, and the wolf snarls as it leaps forward, hurling its body onto the nearest unlucky soul.

Each of the angels is dressed in clean white robes and caps, bearing the appearance of priests. At their sides are blue belts, with plain-looking swords hanging from white-leather scabbards. Knowing better than to believe they are armed normally, I allow my mind to seep into Fenrir's; mind-insertion being a common trait amongst the Delargivic family.

'Friend, careful of their weaponry; those are no ordinary blades.'

As the screaming cuts short from the angel laying on the floor, gargling and sputtering replaces it as I hear the flesh torn from his neck. Red pours from the beheaded corpse similar to that of fountain spewing water, and Fenrir leaps off, trotting to stand at my side as I straighten my back and stare at the group of adversaries.

"Salutations, priests," I greet them slowly, bowing mockingly before standing upright once more. "I see that you are already acquainted with my companion; Fenrir can be quite the handful if you aren't a likable person. Though, seeing as that fellow over there is dead… I can assume you aren't – or am I wrong?"

Brows furrow and I am satisfied with the spiteful gazes falling upon me as animosity fills the air. One addresses me, "Who do you think you are, letting your hound attack and kill one of our kind? We are angels, you know; show some respect. Also… why do you stink of demon? You walk into the wrong neighborhood, boy? We can pay you back for our friend…"

I shrug. "I don't think of myself as anything; I'm just a wanderer with a companion that doesn't like hypocritical bastards. And I don't know what I stink of; I do believe I would take a shower, if you point me in the right direction – though, I feel as though you ought to before me. I insist; you reek of scum."

The wolf, attempting to remain silent until now at my side, chuckles softly and turns to nuzzle my hand. "Can we get this over with, Master? I want to find if any humans remain, and while your words are true, I don't want to waste time."

Laughing sounds. "You think you and your master can take us, mutt? You're mistaken; we're holy, angelic beings! I'll enjoy carving you apart…," one scoffs at us, and draws his blade. His friends follow suit as what seems to be the leader staggers back, staring at me in obvious concern but unable to pinpoint as to why. A line of priests stand before Fenrir and I, and I turn to my Wolven friend.

"I do believe you may do as you please now, Fenrir. Attack."

The wolf snarls in approval before pivoting on its paws, lurching forward. The angels' eyes widen in surprise as the black hulking mass smashes its head into the closest, sending him flying back into two of his friends. Standing back and watching, I busy myself with focusing my energies on listening throughout the city after blocking out the cries of pain and anguish in search of survivors. In the very distant quarter, there appear to be a small nest of women and children, and to the south of that are a group of militiamen and two remaining medics attempting to redress the wounds of the still-breathing. Are there any more? I wonder…

"Master, look out!"

Without flinching, I stretch out my hand and grip the face of an angel about to pounce on me, applying minor pressure as the fool's head implodes; his eyes shriveling and exploding as blood flecks out. Leaning my face out of the way, I watch as the liquid paints the ground, and let the hunk of disgusting flesh fall, focusing once again.

In a small cellar about ten paces east of this point, there are two teenagers; one male, one female – they whisper of how a savior may be at their beck and call as they listen to the slaughter of the White-Wings. Discussion brews of if they ought to move, or to stay put and wait for help, and I decide that I feel merciful today – I will take Fenrir and round up the survivors, see to it that they all survive, and then we shall be on our way.

"Fenrir, are you finished yet?" I ask absentmindedly, ignoring the bloody pile appearing before me. The 'Head-Priest' cries out finally, falling to the ground on his backside as he stares at us in horror. "Oh yes; I forgot to mention – I am Klelthin Aulferinus Delargivic; a pure-blood Daemon with a hound of Hell at my side by the name of Fenrir. It is my pleasure to send you to the abyss you preach of to mortals; the one beyond our holy and unholy domains, where you are eternally forgotten and nil. I do hope you enjoyed your one-way ticket; it was a gift."

A gasp from the man is all that is left as his throat is torn out and his flesh devoured, Fenrir's mouth busied as the corpses of freshly-slain meat pile into it; jaws rip the no-longer-holy skin apart in delightful crunch and chew as bones shatter and organs splat inside the wolf's abundant lines of massive pearly-white teeth. Turning away and walking off first to the women and children, I note Fenrir finishing as the beast chases after me. Large paws crash against the soil and the great mass is beside me once again. "So, are there survivors, Master?"

I nod, and the wolf lets out a howl of delight as we make our way down the ruined street in solemn silence. Letting my mind wander as my body subconsciously travels to our first destination, I think of the world around me. This world, where Daemons are scum despite little being known of us, and where holy beings are worshipped without knowing their true hypocritical, arrogant hatred: this world, where the innocent civilian is nothing more but an expendable waste of time: this world, where only the strong matter and the weak are but fodder for the fields and statistics in boasting of an unneeded population. In truth, this world is little save worthless to me now; and I sometimes question why I walk this bloody path – and then the days prior flood back to me, and I am reminded as to why I am who I am. Those days… if only I had been stronger.

I know little of this world, in all honesty – I have not traveled far enough through its reaches to truly fathom how large it is, and I know little of the countries warring throughout it, I know of the general points of interest in this sector of the Aesterian country. Southeast of it is the country of Morfenon, and I do not recall much else save that. This is the border city of Neirthal, between the two countries – I am to travel northwest later and attempt to stop at the small hamlet of Kin, and attain a map, after I tend to Fenrir's mercies. Once that is accomplished, I will be able to hold better bearings of these lands and better organize and plan my travels accordingly. Yes, my travels to seek him – an important task and one needed for my mental stability; my brother, whom I have not spoken to in four years now. I feel homesick thinking about it.

My legs anchor and reality floods back to me as my head swivels around to center on the large sign overhead stating 'John's General Store'. Musing to myself about who John was prior to this event, and to how his store stands untouched, I step forward with Fenrir at my side; head bowed as to not alarm the militiamen inside. My gloved hand brushes the handle of the door, and I pull on the thin piece of metal, opening the blackened slab as I step forward. Bright lights overhead are my first sight as I hear the clatter of hurried movement before burdened footsteps slink toward me. Light brown hair appears from the doorway; flowing, matted locks hanging from a dirtied, feminine face. Attire being that of thickly-plated metal tunic and greaves over gray chainmail, bearing a black belt and strap hanging from her shoulder, and padded fur boots, bright blue eyes peer at me in readied preparation, but her mouth opens as her eyelids widen, her body stepping back as she stares at me in awe. At this, I take note of the imperial crest on the tabard flowing over her bright, blue armor and of the bastard sword hanging from a brown sheathe at her side.

"A Daemon? What business have you here? Have you come to do us harm… or are you our savior?" she asks, and I cock my head in curiosity. How would she know what I am strictly from first seeing me? She watches me for a moment before pausing, shaking her head. "My apologies," she starts again, bowing, as aged faces stricken with previous worry appear behind her. "I am Sergeant Tara Olfner of the Aesterian army. I should show you more courtesy, but I had not expected to be paid a visit by a Daemon of all things; especially one that has chosen not to behead me on the spot for my angelic mark."

Fenrir barks gently as I am pushed further in, and I become rigid for a moment as I observe her with intense caution. Settling that I am in no danger, I walk to the left and take heed to side-step the furniture piled near the door, and turn. Leaning against the surprisingly strong wood frame, I turn my head and return to observing my new company. "I am Klelthin Aulferinus Delargivic; a Daemon of the world of darkness. It is a pleasure to make your…," I pause as my name makes her eyes widen further, but continue after she blinks once, "…acquaintance. I had been traveling and stumbled upon this town while being accompanied by my hound, Fenrir. I had noted that the town had come under siege, and upon urging of my companion, the beings outside are dead and your assault is now over. However, before we exchange pleasantries further and dilly-dally over small things… there are other survivors strewn about the city. I may direct you to them and ask that you gather them before night-break, as I will tend to your wounded in return. I am tired of my unhalted travels for the last five days, and some time to sit and allow my physical body to rest would be appreciated; as I know it would be the same of my hound."

The woman, 'Tara Olfner,' nods before turning to the room behind her. Barking off orders, three more men clad in armor with chainmail guarding their faces appear, and salute. A quick exchange of locations of persons, and the three disperse out of the door and into the streets once again, leaving my hound and I to sit in the company of the sergeant and her wounded. She draws forth a seat from the wreckage and gingerly rests on it, staring at me intently as silence settles. Minutes pass and I close my eyes, allowing myself temporary relief as Fenrir curls into a ball at the corner; hands on paws, head down as scarlet eyes close, and soft snoring emanates from the wolf.

"If you do not mind my intrusions; you are an interesting pair and you are far different from who you were expected to be. While I did not expect to be betrayed by the beings our empire worships, I especially did not expect to be in the presence of one of the fiercest Daemons amongst your kind – you are rather well-mannered and courteous for one who is said to hold no emotion," she speaks cautiously, and I note the nervousness in her voice as she chooses her words carefully to avoid upsetting me. My lips turn upward ever-so-subtly as she continues. "And I thank you for saving our lives. We are in your debt, and we owe you very much – but I must request further aid from you. There are wounded in the back that we just cannot tend to, and the wounds inflicted are of magical means – the only way to remove them are through the means of another magic-user mending them, and I do not believe another angel may mend holy wounds."

Cocking an eyebrow, I listen as she makes her request.


End file.
